


burn a hole through your collarbone

by catpoop



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drunken Kissing, M/M, drunken misadventures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-15 09:40:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12318471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catpoop/pseuds/catpoop
Summary: Keith's clingy when he's drunk





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dimplelegacy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimplelegacy/gifts).



> thank u mila for forcing me to write this and pulling me outta that Writer's Deep Dark Depression

The bathtub isn’t the _most_ comfortable of places, but when the vodka’s buzzing a pleasant rhythm in Keith’s brain, there’s little he can do except for slouch into the curve of cool porcelain. The quiet rumble of voices from next door drums a steady beat and he widens his mouth in a yawn.

In fact, lying here for all eternity seems a tempting plan. Keith fiddles with the rebellious piece of clothing he calls a shirt, tugging it back down from halfway up his chest as the doorknob rattles. He barely notices as a group of three enter the privacy of his bathroom (not really his, but no one’s pissed in the bathtub so far, so he’s not leaving yet) until Lance’s horrible voice forces a cacophony into his sensitive ear canals.

“Heyy! _KEITH!_ Was wonderin’ where you went.” And as if to emphasis the utter disrespect he has for Keith’s sanctuary and sanity, he unzips his pants. Luckily, Hunk directs him to the nearest toilet bowl before he can let loose all over Keith’s face, too.

While Hunk and Lance are attempting to fight the toilet head-on, Pidge perches on the rim of Keith’s bathtub (he might as well declare it home, now) with a careless precision that would’ve resulted in Keith toppling head-first into welcoming ivory arms if he tried in his current state.

Pidge nods at him. “Hey. What’s up?”

“Nothing’s up.”

Lance lets out a casual shout from the other end of the bathroom, but neither of them pay him any mind.

“Want another drink?” Pidge stares at the embarrassingly pale flesh of Lance’s behind – his pants and boxers have somehow ended on the floor, and Hunk is making no move to help his hapless friend.

Keith frowns at the remembered taste of straight vodka burning a path down his throat. “Nah. I want – I –” Pidge takes out her phone, angling the camera at Lance. “ _Shiro?_ ”

“You’ll have to pry the ladies off him first,” Pidge snorts, shutter capturing several dozen atrocities of modern photography in rapid succession, each titled:

_**A Study in Regret – tan your ass too, dumbass** , 20XX  
Digital_

Keith’s frown deepens at the thought of ‘the ladies’. “Please?” His entire being feels a lot emptier than before, now that he remembers Shiro is a thing. “I want Shiro.”

“Oh god, he said please,” Pidge mutters to herself. “Okay, okay. One prompt delivery of fresh beefy _man_ to your bathtub. That okay?”

“Hurry up,” Keith groans.

Rolling her eyes, Pidge saunters back out.

The silence as Keith waits is painful, punctuated only by whatever Hunk and Lance are getting up to in the corner (Keith can’t muster up the coordination to tell them to leave). He shifts on the spot, impatient.

Finally, _finally_ , Pidge returns with all one-eighty-centimetres of Shiro in tow, free of any pesky ‘ladies’ that might’ve hitched a ride. Keith’s face splits into a dopey grin.

Pidge shudders. “Ugh just, just take him. I need another drink to forget.” Shiro takes the few steps to the bathtub as Pidge shoves the small of his back.

“Hi.” Shiro settles on the edge of the tub as Keith shifts to make space. “I was wondering where you went.”

Keith strokes the side of the tub. “Come in. It’s nice in ‘ere.”

“Not if there’s no space for me, Keith.”

Keith whines. Why won’t Shiro just _come in_? “Yes there is.”

“How about you get up first, and then you can sit in my lap? We can both fit that way.”

Despite Shiro’s simple suggestion, Keith’s brain doesn’t immediately equate ‘get up’ with actually standing on two feet until Shiro leans in to heft him upright. He panics. 

“No, no – I don’t want to leave my tub!”

“Not even for one second?”

“No.” 

Keith stares mournfully as Shiro grips him under the armpits and lifts him out wet-cat style, first hopping into the tub himself before lowering Keith to rest between his legs. Keith pillows his head on Shiro’s pecs.

“How are you enjoying the party?” Shiro’s voice vibrates in his chest.

“I like the bathtub.”

There’s probably a time and place to explain thoroughly to Keith that if he’s going to go to a party just to drink half his weight in hard liquor and promptly lay claim to the bathtub for the latter eighty percent of the night, then it’s better to stay at home. Maybe.

Shiro runs a hand over Keith’s sharp shoulder blades. “So, you got anything planned for your night here?”

Keith looks more intent on shimmying his way up Shiro’s body until he can rest one cheek on his shoulder than replying. “Hmm. There’s live entertainment.” He points to where Lance has apparently passed out on the toilet seat (Hunk is nowhere to be seen). “And _you_. You’re alive – live. Entertainment?”

Shiro chuckles. “Yeah. I’m alive.”

“Tha’s good,” Keith mumbles, before attempting to slobber his way across Shiro’s cheek to where his mouth is. Feeling a little sorry for him, Shiro fixes a gentle hand below his chin, leaning in as Keith returns with a much more enthusiastic kiss.

But he’s quickly interrupted as Keith pulls away. “What’d you drink?”

“A beer?”

“And?”

“Another beer after that? And – uh – something fruity? Allura passed it to me.”

Keith’s dazed face pulls into an approximation of a judgemental scowl. “Fruity stuff? You can’t drink fruit.”

“Why not?” Not all of us charge in demanding half a dozen straight vodkas in blatant escapism, Shiro thinks. Some of us like to enjoy ourselves.

“Coz, because, only wimps drink that shit.” Keith jabs an accusing finger into Shiro’s sternum.

“You think I’m a wimp?” Shiro pouts.

“Yeah.” And with that conclusive proclamation, Keith collapses against his face once again, reaching for the back of his head to cradle him closer. Sighing (but not really), Shiro shutters his eyes, licking into Keith’s enthusiastic mouth as the body pressing into him goes pleasantly limp.

It’s probably the excess alcohol coursing through Keith’s bloodstream, Shiro tells himself, causing him to feel lightheaded himself as Keith squirms atop him, bare skin burning under his touch. His shirt has ridden up again, bunched under his arms and pebbled nipples pressed against Shiro’s chest.

“ _God, Keith_ ,” Shiro mutters as he pauses for breath. His boyfriend’s never usually this clingy. “You sure you don’t want some water?”

“No,” Keith whines. “C’mere.”

“I _am_ here.”

“No –” His frustration is tangible, made funnier when disorientated hands smooth over his face, trace the curve of his jaw and his ears (“Nice earlobes,” Shiro distinctly hears Keith mutter) before leaning in when he’s made sure Shiro’s stopped talking.

“Stop talking,” Keith reminds anyway, and Shiro smiles into the next kiss.

The wet noises between them eventually slow to a halt as Keith’s movements grow gradually slower, until he’s twitching in the crook of Shiro’s neck, fast asleep.

Shiro thumbs at slightly-puffy lips. “Hey, Keith.”

“Hrmm…”

_Sigh._ He supposes Keith can sleep for _now_ , but if he’s not woken sooner rather than later, Shiro’s going to have to deal with an aggressive, hungover, and whiny burden for at least the whole of tomorrow.

… And someone should probably come and pick up Lance, but first he has to toss Keith over a shoulder and deposit him somewhere softer. Nice as it was, the bathtub’s left a bit of a throbbing in his tailbone. 

Shiro groans under his breath.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shiro gets drank

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drunk shiro because two halves make a whole

Early Saturday evening sees Shiro wrapping an arm around the curve of Keith’s waist and pressing a cheek to unkempt curls of hair to murmur: 

“Okay, we can go, but maybe _ease up_ on the drink this time, yeah?”

Keith groans and shrugs him off. “Yeah, yeah. Does that mean you’re gonna get wasted instead?”

“No.”

\-----

True to his word, Shiro is perched on a barstool an hour later, nursing his first beer as he watches Pidge egg Lance on (shots of something candy-coloured) and Keith swill the last dregs of his drink around. It’s a fancier setting this time – no bathtub in sight, for one. An actual establishment, and Shiro grips his drink with the quiet confidence that it’s definitely not the product of some deranged witchcraftery – of young adults, given undue freedom and zero instruction of what drinks to Never Mix.

He never drinks enough to feel remotely hammered, but it’s entertaining, in a way, observing the crowd and his friends, white noise pressing on his eardrums. He knows Keith and the rest get off on addicting intoxication or straight up ‘it tastes _good_ , man’. (Assuming Lance’s drunken judgement is to be trusted.)

And he shouldn’t have trusted Keith either.

Keith slides something garishly red in front of him, sly smirk on his face. “Heard you liked fruit? Here’s your five-plus-a-day, asshole.”

Shiro raises a stern eyebrow. “Sounds like you’re trying to poison me, cadet.”

“Pfft, it’s just strawberries.” Keith swats his shoulder. “Healthy. Fibre helps you shit.”

“My bowel movements are none of your business,” Shiro rolls his eyes, even though they share a flat and what he does in the bathroom is very much everyone’s business, because the ventilation is crap and Keith has a nose. He takes a sip of what looks like dyed water and promptly gags at the burn in his throat.

Shiro winces and lets out a squawk to mirror Keith’s first espresso experience.

“Yum yum.” Keith pats his head condescendingly. “Now finish it like a good boy.”

Shiro takes another sip. He supposes it should get better as he gets used to the sensation, and the strawberry syrup or whatever they’ve put in it tastes… edible, so it could be worse. Keith eyes him expectantly.

“Are you watching me to make sure I don’t spit it out?”

“Yeah. Fruit is healthy.”

“Do I even want to know what’s in this?”

Keith barks a short laugh.

It’s only _one_ drink, Shiro tells himself. Enough to appease the boyfriend, and no more. It’s just… spicy water, with a little added toxin for extra taste. Shiro pats his chest in an attempt to comfort his liver. 

And say, where _is_ the boyfriend, now that his glass is three-quarters empty and he feels an uncontrollable urge to show off to Keith.

“Kith? _Ki – th?_ ”

Eyes wide, he scans the room for a familiar face to see no one save a blurry figure in the corner that could be Pidge but also a potted plant. And where’s Lance? Hunk? _Keith?_

He takes another anxious gulp to soothe his dry throat and fights the urge to run tearing into the crowd in search of his friends. In fact, did he – did he even come here with Keith? Should he leave?  
But even if he wanted to escape, the way out is hidden behind the masses of people. Shiro swallows an unsettled noise.

_Keith –_

A light touch on his shoulder jolts him back into sense. “Hey, Shiro. What’s the matter?”

“Keith?”

Shiro whirls around. It’s Keith. Looking radiant as ever, he might add, and Shiro hurriedly slaps his hands around Keith’s waist before he can disappear again. 

“I – I was looking all over for you, I thought you disappeared and where’s… Lance.”

Keith tugs gently at his hand. “Uh, hey, Shiro. You alright? I was just gone for a few minutes. Told you I needed a piss.”

_Did he?_

“Did you?” Shiro stares into Keith’s mildly worried face.

“…Yeah?”

With both his palms glued to Keith’s midsection, it’s a little hard for them both to comfortably sit down, and Keith wriggles impatiently to seat himself on the neighbouring stool. Shiro reluctantly withdraws his hands.

“Shiro…” Keith sounds like an admonishing parent with his tone and unimpressed gaze. “How much did you drink?”

“Just the – strawberries.” Shiro licks lingering taste off the roof of his mouth. Spicy.

“Really?”

Shiro would nod, if it didn’t send a wave of confusion through his senses. He settles for a croaky ‘Yeah’.

“Bu–But didn’t Allura feed you cocktails that last time?”

It takes a while for the words to enter Shiro’s brain, and when they do, they’re promptly whisked away into a whirlwind of indecipherable letters and sounds. He shrugs. 

“Dunno.”

Keith gives him a flat look and rubs his brow. “Jeez. Okay, okay. Don’t touch that stuff, and I’m gonna be back soon, promise?”

“Pinky promise?”

Keith offers an outstretched finger before disappearing yet again into the crowd. And Shiro finds himself, yet again, alone. 

He grips the counter in dismay.

\-----

Keith returns to find his tipsy boyfriend in full-on hysterics. Unfortunately.

Lance peers over his shoulder as Keith nears the waterworks with an uncomfortable wince on his face. Shiro is sobbing like his cat just died, and the new cocktail in his grip is the obvious culprit. 

Keith attempts a placating tone. “Hey. Hey, Shiro?”

Shiro blinks and sniffles at his voice. “Keth?” Lance stifles a giggle.

As gently as he can, Keith eases the filled glass from Shiro’s grip. “Yeah, it’s me. How much more did you drink?”

“I – I thought you left me…” Shiro breaks off into a croaky noise as Lance and now Pidge lean around Keith to stare. Pidge’s phone is already in prime videoing position.

“I’m not going to, okay? And jeez, let’s get rid of that.” Keith picks up the cocktail in one swift movement and shoves it towards Pidge, who hands it to Lance. Too preoccupied to snarl at his ‘rival’ indirectly kissing his boyfriend, Keith continues:

“What was in those? Half a bottle of absinthe? Weed?” Absentmindedly, he wipes a stray tear off Shiro’s cheek. 

“…Strawberries.”

“Great. Hey, Pidge, you’re a smartass.” Pidge hisses at the accusation as Keith continues. “Is Shiro here irreversibly alcohol-poisoned?”

Pidge lowers her phone. “He had what? _A_ cocktail?”

“– and a half. And a beer?”

Lance hoots in the background. Pidge sighs. “Is he just a super-lightweight? How did we never figure this out?”

“Dunno,” Keith concludes, a little too busy with Shiro’s roaming hands to figure out how to deal with this mess. He seats himself on Shiro’s lap in defeat and two corded arms wrap tight around his waist in joy. “And stop crushing me, big guy.”

Shiro hiccups.

With his new constricting seat hugging his midriff, Keith resigns himself to a night of neck-breathing and uncharacteristic giggling. In fact, if it weren’t for the solid abdomen behind him, Keith might mistake his chair for Lance’s niece. 

He pats a thick thigh and Shiro makes a chirpy noise. 

“Great. Shiro, are you planning on letting go of me anytime soon?”

Shiro’s head droops onto his shoulder with a groan.

\-----

But despite his current… encumbrance, Pidge, friend that she is, manages to supply him with enough alcohol that Shiro’s numbing grip is less obvious and not the only highlight of his evening. That, paired with Lance’s passionate embrace with a bottle of tequila he must’ve pulled out his pants. Hunk drops by to chuckle at a snoozing Shiro, and Allura pauses for long enough to inform Keith that she’d been ordering Shiro ‘fruit juice for kiddies’, because _Don’t you know he’s a lightweight?_

“He downs plenty of beers!” Keith exclaims in his defence.

“But not the poison mixed into those drinks of yours,” Allura reprimands with a waggle of her finger, and sweeps away with enough condescension to reduce Keith to a shameful puddle.

“They’re not even _my_ drinks,” Keith mutters. “Stupid fruity shit.”

Shiro hums in agreement from behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> swummeng-geys.tumblr.com (feel free to request fics or click the button on my sidebar if you want to support me)  
> twitter: @hashtag_yikes


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